Brynn and Sebastian Hate Each Other, page 13
I’m hopeful there can be some healing to come from people seeing her again. Maybe you can encourage everyone to be on their best behavior?
He chewed on the inside of his cheek while he contemplated the new words. He replaced “hopeful” with “hoping”—he wanted to be nice, not tell bald-faced lies—and then hit Send.
Andi sent back a thumbs-up emoji, and he let out a deep breath. Now if only he could somehow compel Brynn to be on her best behavior.
Leaning back until the vehicle was visible through the curtain covering the window behind him, Sebastian saw that Orly had climbed back in, and he and Brynn seemed to be engaged in conversation. She was leaning back, doing most of the talking, from the looks of it. That wasn’t surprising. Sebastian imagined that a great deal of Brynn’s life was probably spent trying to talk her way out of whatever foot-in-mouth thing she had most recently said by mistake.
He knew he should get back out there and share the burden with poor Orly, but he wasn’t quite ready to sacrifice his moment of peace just yet. Even for the sake of poor Orly.
“Murrow, come here,” he said softly, and the little guy abandoned his squirrel and all projected hints of contempt and hurried over to Sebastian. “We’re doing okay, aren’t we, pal?” He lifted Murrow up onto his lap and combed his fingers through the silky tan fur on his ears as the dog curled up and settled in. And for just that little bit of attention, Sebastian was rewarded with all the love a dog could communicate in those chocolate, almond-shaped eyes.
If you’d told him anytime prior to Murrow’s arrival in his life that he would ever be the kind of guy who would sit around his empty house alone talking to a dog—a tiny dog that he had to be careful not to lose in the snowbanks and who couldn’t go outside untethered owing to the very real risk that he would get carried off by a hawk—he’d have thought you were crazy. His dad had never allowed the Sudworth boys to have dogs growing up. They would have even settled for cats (though he shuddered at the thought now), but they, too, were deemed troublesome, dirty, and unnecessary. Besides, his dad reasoned, people tended to form bonds with those types of animals—heaven forbid—and when they died, all you’d done was invite in unnecessary heartache.
His middle brother, Xavier, had once argued that if that was the case, they probably shouldn’t have allowed Sebastian into the family. Someone was bound to get attached to him eventually. It had been a joke, and everyone had laughed—including Sebastian, since Sudworths were trained to have extremely thick skin—but he couldn’t deny that it had all impacted the emotional attachments he allowed and didn’t allow himself to make through the years.
Wasn’t it funny how the most insignificant words could make the biggest impact?
It had taken a whole lot of counseling, self-help books, and prayer—not to mention dabbling in a few things that didn’t help at all—for him to be able to put a lot of words and actions from his past into perspective. His and those of others. And it had taken Doc Atwater talking on the phone with his former therapist in London and deciding to prescribe him a dog, of all things, for Sebastian to open himself up to an emotional connection for the first time in longer than he cared to admit.
So, yeah . . . he talked to his dog. In some ways, he felt he owed his dog his life. At the very least, he owed him for his quality of life. He owed him for making Sebastian see that he and Lorenzo—the large, blue three-spot gourami fish that far outlived his life expectancy and had to move to Chicago with Sebastian when he started college—had not truly reached the pinnacle of pet-human relations. And he owed him for the peace, joy, and contentment he felt.
He and Murrow both jumped as they were startled out of that contentment by three sharp honks of the Bronco’s horn.
“What’s taking so long?!”
He peeked out the window again and saw that Brynn had climbed halfway into the driver’s seat and was stretching her neck out the open window. Poor Orly was just sitting there with his head buried in his hand.
“That’s Brynn Cornell,” he said to Murrow with a sigh as he lifted him off his lap and set him back down on the couch. “Now do you understand why ‘nice’ wasn’t my first instinct? She’s just a delight, let me tell you.” He stood from his seat, and Murrow’s little legs took the leap off the couch and followed him. He swooped Murrow up before opening the door, then leaned out and yelled, “Hold your horses, Brenda!”
Her eyes and mouth flew open, but she remained silent as Sebastian shut the door again and set Murrow down. He pulled out his phone and typed up another quick text to Andi.
I got the impression from Jo that Brynn’s real name is Brenda? Everyone should call her that. I think it will make her feel more at home. Be there in ten.
He looked down at Murrow and shrugged. “I tried.” He grabbed the leash from the table by the door and clipped it onto Murrow’s collar as he began chuckling to himself. They walked to the back door. “Come on, boy. I’d better let you use the bathroom so I can resume thy ladyship’s bidding.”
Chapter 11
Brynn
Monday, March 21
8:11 a.m. Mountain Daylight Time
“I’ll be right back,” I heard Sebastian tell Orly, and then Orly climbed back into his seat.
I was still facing the back, but I turned around and sat as Orly mused, “Golly, that’s a cute dog. Reminds me of this terrier we had when my kids were little. ‘Blueberry,’ they named him.” He tilted his head to look at me. “You know . . . since our name’s ‘Hill.’” He shrugged and faced front again and locked his seat belt back into place. “Have you always been allergic?”
“Yeah.” I scooted over and situated myself so I could see my reflection in the rearview mirror. I pulled back my jacket and lowered my sweater collar a little. My neck was red, alright, but I was pretty sure that was just from all the scratching. How warm I had gotten from all the activity and concern didn’t help.
I yanked my jacket off, but that wasn’t enough. “Do you mind if I roll this down?” I pointed to the driver’s side window.
“I got it.” Orly undid his seat belt again and leaned over.
“Thanks.”
There was a feeling that I’d never experienced anywhere else that accompanied certain winter and early spring days in the mountains of Colorado. At night, you’d freeze. Not figuratively. You’d literally freeze. Sometimes the temperature would drop down to single digits, with a windchill of negative eighty-four—or so it seemed. But once the sun came up, it felt like summer. I’d kind of forgotten that, but I certainly remembered it now.
“I didn’t pack properly,” I muttered, pushing up my sleeves as some cool air finally began to hit me.
Orly chuckled and rolled his window down some too. “Yeah, this is weird.”
There’s a reason the unofficial uniform of Colorado mountain-town youth is a hoodie, shorts, and a pair of Birkenstocks. As you get older, the more mature uniform can be described in one word: layers.
We sat in silence until Orly asked, “Did you manage to finish off some breakfast?”
I nodded. “Yeah. No thanks to our chauffeur, of course.”
“I think that was the first time I ever had a real breakfast burrito. Life changing, man. Life changing.”
“Life changing, huh?” I settled into the corner of the back seat and stretched my legs across the midway point. “Aren’t tortillas and meat and eggs and all that pretty much the same the world over?”
His head snapped toward me. “Are you kidding me right now, Cornell? You mean to tell me you’ve found a place to get a breakfast burrito like that in the Garment District and you’ve been keeping it to yourself?”
I laughed. “Okay, maybe not.” I thought about the flavors. “It’s the green chile. It’s like salt out here. It’s in absolutely everything.”
“No complaints here.” Orly turned back around. “No, ma’am. You will not hear me complaining.” He released a sigh . . . probably still thinking about the burrito. “Jo seems like a great lady.”
My eyes widened. “You call her Jo?”
“Should I not? She told me to.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Just . . . odd. Odd to hear, I mean. She was my teacher for a lot of years, so I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to call her anything but Mrs. Stoddard.”
My phone chimed from my pocket, and I lifted my hips a bit to be able to slide my hand in to pull it out. They’d been skinny jeans to begin with. Starting the morning with more carbs than I usually consumed in the course of three days hadn’t helped, that was for sure.
I read the text. From Colton. To both of us.
“The boss texted,” I informed Orly, and he dug out his own phone from the inside pocket of his coat.
How’s it going? Getting some good stuff? Have you won them over yet?
“How should we reply to that one?” Orly asked with a laugh. “I can never interpret the tone in texts. I mean, we’ve only been here a few hours. He’s kidding, right?”
Was he? It seemed ludicrous now, of course, to think of having made any significant dent in what we were here to do. Especially considering the only person I’d encountered from my previous life was Mrs. Stoddard, who had made it very clear from moment one that she wasn’t at all happy to see me. And based on the reception I’d received from my only new acquaintance, it seemed pretty safe to assume Adelaide Springs wasn’t planning to roll out the red carpet and give me the key to the city.
But was Colton joking? I really had no idea. I think I’d imagined it would all progress better than it was. I would have sworn—in fact, maybe I did swear to him?—that it wouldn’t take me any time at all to get back into their good graces. Once again, jumping into action without adequately considering the consequences could sometimes be a risk.
Then again, how much of the lack of progress was completely out of my control? All of it, probably. If I’d had the opportunity to interact with some people last night rather than being unceremoniously dumped at the inn. Or if the dog could have been squared away before the day began . . .
Yeah, it was pretty clear who was standing in the way of progress.
It was one thing for him not to help me along. For him to be rude and to make his feelings and disapproval known. It was one thing for him to be completely insignificant, as I believed him to be when the day began. But since then? I couldn’t get a good read on him. I hadn’t been able to shake the way Mrs. Stoddard looked to him. The way she course-corrected based on his guidance.
Oh, and then let’s not forget the casual way he shared information about little Jake Morissey and his wife. Their kids. He talked like a local who actually knew the people in this town. He talked like he was one of them.
But when it came right down to it, none of that mattered. What mattered was that he was once again standing in the way of what I had come there to do. There was no reason whatsoever why Orly and I should be stuck roasting in an ugly metal heap on the most unappealing plot of land on the entire Colorado Western Slope when we could have been filming irresistible footage of me winning them all over.
I pulled up my knees and bolted through the space between the seats and pushed on the horn three times. “What’s taking so long?” I called out to Sebastian—maybe just to the whole disappointing world in general—through the open window.
“Brynn!” Orly looked around to see if anyone was around, which of course they weren’t. Sebastian’s property made the middle of nowhere feel like the epicenter of somewhere. All the same, he was embarrassed of me, if the way he covered his face and sank down in his seat was any indication.
“What? He’s making my already difficult job impossible, and I’ve just about had it with him.”
Finally, the front door of his house opened. “Hold your horses, Brenda!” Sebastian shouted from the doorway, still holding that blasted dog.
Oh no, he did not.
He shut the door and went back inside, leaving me to gape after him in shock. Of all the self-righteous, rude, insufferable people I had met in my life—and yes, I’m looking at you, Julie Andrews—Sebastian Sudworth topped the list.
“That’s it.” I huffed as I sat back in the seat again. “I’m done with this guy.” I pulled up Colton’s message on my phone again and began typing, saying the words aloud to Orly as I did.
We got stuck with this impossible tour guide who is out to sabotage the whole thing. Prepared to handle it myself, of course, but am thinking it might be best if you made a call. We’ll never get anywhere with this guy. Tried to make it work, but he’s crossed the line.
“Um, I don’t know that I’d send that if I were you.” Orly’s words seemed laced in urgency, so I tried to see his side of it.
“Fine.” I began typing onto the end of the message, still reading aloud.
Probably best if they don’t know I said anything.
“No, Brynn!” Orly laughed nervously and adjusted his body toward me again. “You can’t send that. I know you don’t like him, but trust me, you don’t want to—”
With defiance I raised my phone for him to see and hit Send. “Done.”
“Oh, Brynn.” He shook his head and lowered it. “Are you ever going to stop self-sabotaging your career?”
“Excuse me?”
Our phones dinged again, and we both looked down.
Sorry to hear that. Orly, what are your thoughts?
Orly grimaced. I, meanwhile, felt like the air had been knocked out of me. No offense to Orly. I really liked Orly. But what did Orly’s opinion on this matter have to do with anything?
“Great. Now look at the position you’ve put me in. What am I supposed to say to that?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Whatever you want. Clearly I’m at fault here, though I don’t have the foggiest idea why, so say what you want. I really don’t care.” I lowered my hands and crossed my arms as I reclined in the seat again. My posture was the perfect epitome of not caring. I could not possibly have cared less. See? See how much I don’t care? “You and Colton work it out. I don’t care.” Nope. Didn’t care one bit.
He studied me for a few seconds and then shook his head. “Fine.” He began typing, but he didn’t give me the courtesy I had given him of narrating as a heads-up.
And he texted soooo slowly. Seriously. I was tempted to honk the horn again just to get him to hurry things along. And maybe I would have, if not for the fear of being called Brenda again.
Hey, Colton. This is Orly. I agree that these two haven’t exactly been hitting it off. But you should know that the “tour guide” is Sebastian Sudworth. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to cause a ruckus. That’s just my opinion, and I will respect your decision.
“I’m sorry I had to disagree with you like that to Colton.”
Orly’s voice sounded pained, but I hadn’t yet managed to look up to see if the expression matched the tone. I was too busy trying to make sense of it all in my mind. Unable to vocalize the questions and confusion in my head, and fascinated by the reply that had popped up immediately on Colton’s end.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME???
I barely had time to read the brief—but incredibly emphatic—response before my phone rang. I looked up at Orly, whose big, surprised eyes mirrored mine, held it up for him to see it was Colton calling, and then put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Sebastian Sudworth. As in Sebastian Sudworth? Brynn. Please tell me Sudworth is a common name in your hometown—I don’t know, like Jones or Smith. Please tell me this is not the Sebastian Sudworth I’m thinking it is.”
I must admit . . . above all else, in that moment, I felt really stupid for spending my morning making mental lists of people in Adelaide Springs who might be willing to escort me around town instead of Sebastian Sudworth when I really should have been figuring out who the heck Sebastian Sudworth was.
“Well, Colton, to be honest, I know you and Orly seem to know who this guy is, but I—”
“Is Orly with you?”
“Yes. We’re in a car outside of—”
“Put me on speaker.”
I quickly did as he instructed and held the phone between Orly and me. “Okay, you’re on speaker.”
“Orly, this is who I’m thinking of, right?” He sounded calm, but an eye-of-the-storm sort of calm. Not any sort of calm that instilled confidence it was safe to remove the boards I had nailed up over my windows.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
I could hear Colton inhaling and exhaling on the other end of the call. I took the opportunity to tap Orly on the arm and mouth the words, “Who is Sebastian Sudworth?” but before he could attempt to silently reply, Colton had apparently gathered himself enough to speak again.
“We’re not even going to talk, for the time being, about how genuinely disturbed I am that the woman we just put in the second chair on Sunup—ostensibly a news program—has never heard of one of the most widely respected journalists of a generation. Although, honestly, Brynn, I am in awe of you sometimes. But be that as it may, here’s what you need to know: Sebastian Sudworth has two Pulitzers in International Reporting. It’s generally agreed upon that he was cheated out of five or six others. He has a handful of Peabodys. I’m not sure how many Emmys the man won. Probably more than me, although that seems difficult to imagine, doesn’t it . . . considering the crack team of journalists I lead? He was on the ground in Afghanistan. Syria. Sudan. The network wanted him in the anchor spot, but he wouldn’t take it. Every network wanted him, but he wouldn’t leave the field. And then the guy just disappeared. He left the business and hasn’t been heard from since. Now, I guess, we know. He’s been holed up in your hometown. Of course he has.” Colton laughed humorlessly and muttered, “Apparently Adelaide Springs, Colorado, is the Island of Misfit Broadcasters.”
Yeah . . . okay. He probably would have shown up on Google if I had thought to look.
